Rome in Love (21 page)
Authors: Anita Hughes
“Who was she?” Philip leaned forward.
“The girl in the photo.”
“Sophie gave you the picture!” Philip sucked in his breath. “Why would she write an exposé about herself?”
“I have no idea.” Adam shook his head. “She had the article written and everything.”
“Did she want money?” Philip asked.
“I don’t have that kind of money.” Adam laughed. “She said it was free and gave me an exclusive.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.” Philip paced around the tiny office.
“I gave up trying to understand women years ago.” Adam shrugged, flicking the cigarette into the garbage can.
* * *
Philip stood at the entrance of the Hassler and glanced around the lobby. He saw black and gold marble floors and thick gold columns. He saw velvet wallpaper covered with paintings by Titian and Botticelli. There were marble statues and crystal vases filled with white and yellow tulips.
“Good afternoon, Ernesto.” He approached the concierge desk. “Has anyone picked up my letter?”
“I’m afraid not.” Ernesto shook his head.
“I have another one.” Philip reached into his shirt pocket.
“The woman interested in your letters is not here,” Ernesto said slowly.
“Has she checked out?” Philip asked.
“She took a little trip.” Ernesto hesitated. “She will return on Tuesday.”
“Where did she go?” Philip felt his heart pound.
“I cannot reveal her destination.” Ernesto glanced around the lobby.
“Please, Ernesto.” Philip drew forty euros out of his pocket. “It’s very important.”
“I am not at liberty to say.” Ernesto eyed the notes. “But most travel arrangements are made with Signora Rosa.”
“Signora Rosa?” Philip repeated.
Ernesto pointed to a woman sitting behind a mahogany desk. “Signora Rosa is our travel concierge; she is the best in Rome.”
“Thank you,” Philip beamed.
He smoothed his hair and slipped his hands in his pockets. He approached the desk and took a deep breath.
“Hello, I wonder if you could answer a few questions.”
Signora Rosa glanced up from a stack of brochures. She had brown eyes and blond hair pulled into a bun. She wore a yellow silk dress and narrow heels. She looked at Philip’s rumpled shirt and creased slacks and frowned.
“Are you a hotel guest?” she asked.
Philip hesitated. “Not exactly.”
“I am sorry, I only assist guests of the Hassler.” She tapped her red fingernails on a ceramic ashtray.
“I’m a journalist and I’m writing a feature on Rome’s top travel concierges.” Philip sat in a gold velvet chair. “I heard you are one of the best.”
“I may have a free moment,” Signora Rosa murmured. “How can I help you?”
“What are the most popular trips from Rome?” Philip began. “Where have you booked guests in the last couple of days?”
“Spoleto is always attractive.” Signora Rosa flipped through her notes. “And guests love Villa d’Este in Tivoli. Wine tasting in Pienza is popular and I booked a group to visit Monte Oliveto Maggoire; it is one of the oldest Benedictine monasteries.”
“Some place farther.” Philip rubbed his forehead. “Somewhere they would spend the night.”
“A lot of guests visit Pompeii,” she mused. “Or in the summer it is nice to travel to Portofino and sail on the Mediterranean.”
“Portofino?” Philip sat forward. He pictured Amelia giggling and telling him Sophie was a princess. He remembered her saying she had a diamond tiara and a lady-in-waiting and a royal yacht in Portofino.
“Portofino is only four hours by train and it is the jewel of the Ligurian Riviera,” Signora Rosa replied. “It is home to countless movie stars and the harbor is full of quaint wooden fishing boats and sleek yachts. The restaurants are exceptional and the view from Castello Brown is spectacular.”
Philip stuck his legs in front of him and let his shoulders relax. “If a guest was going to Portofino, where would she stay?”
“There is only one property comparable to the Hotel Hassler.” Signora Rosa smiled. “The Hotel Splendido.”
* * *
Philip placed two pieces of wheat bread on a plate. He added bacon and sliced heirloom tomato and red onions. He cut a wedge of Edam cheese and sat at the glass dining room table.
He took big bites of the sandwich, sifting through his mail. His mother sent a letter saying she bought tickets to
The Book of Mormon
in September. His father sent the address of the Bruno Magli store in Rome with the note:
Could you pick me up a pair of burgundy velvet slippers? My pair is so worn your mother made me donate them to the Salvation Army.
Philip glanced at the thin pile of euros on the table and frowned. If he took the train to Portofino he would only have a few euros left. He wasn’t sure if Amelia was there but he had no other leads.
Max opened the door and entered the living room. He wore a yellow collared shirt and jeans and sneakers. His camera was slung over his shoulder and he carried a packet of digestive biscuits.
“Signora Griselda told me to give you these.” Max handed him the biscuits. “She thinks you haven’t been eating.”
“Sophie gave Adam the photo. She wrote the exposé herself.” Philip wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“Why would she do that?” Max took a green apple from the fruit bowl.
“I don’t know.” Philip shrugged. “But I think Amelia went to Portofino to see Sophie’s lady-in-waiting.”
“Ladies-in-waiting, royal yachts.” Max bit into the apple. “It sounds like a James Bond movie.”
“I have to go to Portofino but the train ticket cost seventy-five euros.” Philip pushed away his plate.
“I’d go with you but the countess and I are seeing
Rigoletto
at Opera Roma,” Max replied.
“You’re going to the opera?” Philip raised his eyebrow.
“We saw
Othello
last night. The countess wore a gold lamé dress and a sapphire and diamond necklace. She looked like Cleopatra,” Max mused. “We sat in a red velvet box and she dug her nails into my arm, I’ve never done anything so erotic.”
“I better hurry.” Philip pushed back his chair. “The train leaves at four o’clock.”
“You can borrow my car.” Max drew a car key out of his pocket. “Be careful on the Appian Way, Italians drive like race car drivers.”
“Since when do you have a car?” Philip frowned.
“Mirabella gave it to me,” Max replied. “It’s a beauty, a baby blue Alfa Romeo Spider.”
“I thought you weren’t going to be a kept man.” Philip grinned, fingering the car key.
“I did her a favor.” Max tossed the apple in the garbage. “She bought an Aston Martin and didn’t have room in the garage.”
* * *
Philip closed his suitcase and strode down the stairs. He threw the bag in the trunk and climbed into the small blue car. He rolled down the window and started the ignition.
He pictured Amelia’s glossy brown hair and large brown eyes. He saw her slender neck and small pink mouth. He turned into the narrow alley and stepped harder on the accelerator.
Amelia stood on the balcony of her room at the Hotel Splendido and gazed at the harbor. The water was pale blue and dotted with wooden fishing boats. Wide catamarans sailed beside glittering speedboats and huge yachts rested at the dock.
She took the late night train to Rapallo and a taxi dropped her off at the Hotel Splendido. She followed the concierge to her room and fell asleep in her cotton dress and sandals. She woke in the morning and felt the warm breeze waft through the lace curtains.
Now she gazed at the sparkling Mediterranean and had never seen anywhere so beautiful. The Hotel Splendido was perched on a hill, high above the piazza. Amelia saw green inlets and lush tropical gardens.
She walked inside and admired the white marble floor and the lace bedspread scattered with pink and blue satin pillows. Signora Rosa apologized she couldn’t secure a suite at short notice but Amelia liked the cozy room.
She glanced at the silver tray of fluffy scrambled eggs and fresh scones and wished she were hungry. She unpacked her suitcase and slipped on a white linen dress and sandals. She tied a yellow silk scarf around her head and put on oversized sunglasses. She rubbed pink lip gloss on her lips and crossed the hall to the elevator.
The lobby had a white marble floor and tall French windows. The walls were covered in raw silk and crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. Floral sofas were scattered over Oriental rugs and ceramic vases held white orchids.
Amelia hurried through the glass doors and walked down the hillside to the piazza. She smelled espresso and fresh bread and longed to have lunch at an outdoor café. She wished Philip were sitting opposite her, sharing a plate of calamari. Then she remembered the photo of her and Sophie outside Caffé Greco and shivered. She strode to the dock and approached a fisherman in a blue sweater.
“Excuse me, do you speak English?”
“Everyone in Portofino speaks English,” the man replied. “How else would we talk to beautiful women?”
“Do you know if the Royal Yacht of Lentz is parked in the harbor?” Amelia asked.
The man smiled and pointed to the end of the dock. “Of course, it is the biggest yacht in Portofino.”
Amelia walked along the dock and saw a long white yacht with sleek windows. The deck had a round swimming pool and brown leather sofas. There was a marble bar with rows of glittering bottles.
“Excuse me,” Amelia called. “Do you have a moment?”
“The princess is confined to bed with the measles.” A woman stood at the railing. “There will be no photos.”
“I’m not a photographer, I’m a friend of Sophie’s.” Amelia shielded her eyes from the sun.
“Princess Sophia is not talking to anyone.” The woman turned away. “Leave us alone.”
“I promise I’m not paparazzi,” Amelia insisted. “I’m trying to find her.”
“I don’t believe you,” the woman murmured, glancing at Amelia’s silk scarf and white leather sandals.
“I know Sophie has asthma and loves Hans Christian Anderson fairy tales and wants a house full of children,” Amelia blurted out.
“Who are you?” The woman hesitated.
“My name is Amelia Tate, I met Sophie in Rome,” Amelia replied. “I thought she might be here.”
The woman glanced around the dock. She nodded to Amelia and pointed to wooden steps. “Come on board, we will talk in private.”
Amelia followed the woman into a long room with a beamed ceiling. The floor was polished wood and the walls were painted ivory. There were white leather sofas and tall mahogany bookshelves.
“I’m Elspeth, Princess Sophia’s lady-in-waiting.” The woman held out her hand. She had brown hair and slender cheekbones. She wore a cream dress and beige pumps. “It’s my fault she’s in Rome. I’ve known Princess Sophia since she was a little girl, and she hardly asks for anything. She begged me to let her go, I should have said no.”
“She’s been having a wonderful time, she loves the boutiques and museums.” Amelia perched on a white leather sofa. “This article came out and she disappeared.”
“I have to tell his Royal Highness, something might have happened to her.”
“Please don’t,” Amelia protested. “I’m going to find her.”
“I assured King Alfred the article is false and Princess Sophia is in bed.” Elspeth paced around the room. “If he discovers the truth, I’ll lose my position. You have until tomorrow night.”
“I’ll find her, I promise.” Amelia nodded. She gazed at the ceramic fruit bowl filled with peaches and apricots and thought she had no idea where to look.
* * *
Amelia sat on the balcony of La Terrazza restaurant and gazed at the view. It was early afternoon and the sun sparkled on the blue water. The harbor was shaped like a horseshoe and everywhere there were green plants and brightly colored flowers.
She glanced at the white linen tablecloth and gleaming silverware. Everything on the menu—the Ligurian ravioli with herb filling, the taglietelle with prawns and artichokes—sounded delicious. But now that the waiter delivered a platter of seafood salad with lemon sauce, Amelia couldn’t eat a bite.
She fingered a glass of sparkling water and pictured Sophie with her blond hair and blue eyes. She imagined her seeing her photo in the newspaper and felt her stomach rise to her throat. She remembered Philip denying he had anything to do with it and flinched.
She would take the last train to Rome and wait for Sophie at the Hassler. If Sophie didn’t return by morning, she would have to ask Theo for help.
Amelia pushed away her plate and called for the check. She took the elevator to the third floor and opened the door. She slipped off her sandals and felt the cool marble under her feet. She opened her suitcase and drew out a stack of papers.
At the last minute she was afraid the maids would discover Audrey Hepburn’s letters and stuffed them in her suitcase. She took the top page and began to read.
August 24, 1952
Dear Kitty,
Mr. Wyler had to go to Florence so we have the whole day off! I woke up early and strolled through the Roman Forum. It’s wonderful to explore the city before the streets are full of cars and the sidewalks are crammed with tourists. Sometimes I’m so busy looking at the camera, I forget that I’m in Rome.
I came back to the Villa Medici Suite and ran a bath. I thought it would be a perfect day to wash my hair and mail these letters. Oh, Kitty, don’t be angry when you get a stack of mail. I love sitting at the antique desk and writing my thoughts, but I never have time to address the envelopes.
I was about to step into the marble bathtub when the telephone rang. I wrapped myself in a fluffy white towel and answered it.
“We’re going to take a picnic to the Villa d’Este,” a female voice said. “You must join us.”
“Veronique?” I hesitated. She never called before but I don’t know anyone else with a French accent.
“Gregory and Mel and I are in a car downstairs,” Veronique replied. “Don’t take too long, we want to beat the traffic.”
“I was about to take a bath.” I hesitated.